Deadfall: Survivors

by Richard Flunker

Matters got worse. When I finished reading it all, in my stunned and stupefied silence, I put the papers down and looked to her, just as she was getting up from the chair.

  “I, I don’t know what to say. I'm so sorry.”

  She just stood there, tears still fresh in her eyes, just not rolling down her cheeks anymore.

  And then she began to take her shirt off.

  My stunned silence changed to shocked silence. It took me just a moment to register what she thought she was doing. I had read it in her story. As she took her shirt off, pulling it over her brown hair, my heart skipped. She tossed it aside, and looked me straight in the eye as she began to remove her bra. My heart was racing way too fast for my brain to keep up. I knew exactly what was going to happen, but I couldn’t catch my breath long enough to think. I had to stop her, but those voices from that dark animal part of my brain just kept growing louder and louder with every moment. When she began to lower her pants, finally, the more human part of me kicked in.

  “What are you doing?”

  Heather “I don’t know how to do anything. But I can still be useful.”

  “What? No. You don’t have to do that, with me, that is. That. Just. STOP.”

  She had gotten herself undressed down to her underwear.

  “Heather, you don’t have to do anything at all. Just live. No one is asking anything of you. I’m really sorry those soldiers did that to you, made you see what you did. But you don’t have to be that here. My goodness. (stammering) Just, put on, put on, uh, here, just put it on.”

  She looked at me, then collapsed to her knees in front of me. What was I to do? I quickly stripped the blanket off of my bed, and threw it around her to cover her up. It’s funny how stress and the horrors of our existence at the moment can make one forget the simple things in life. I kept seeing her nearly naked in my mind and she was, is, so beautiful. Broken, but beautiful. And then I had to shake that image from my mind. There was no way I could take advantage of her, even if I was a complete sucker for women. Those soldiers, in their desperation at the end of their lives, had killed one person and nearly destroyed another one’s mind. There was no way I could do that.

  So what could I do? I just dropped down there on her level, and put my arms around her, hugged her, tightly. Seems rather, goofy, corny, but it was something I remember from when I was young. My mother had stood in the kitchen, yelling at my father for being a failure. I was maybe four, I'm not sure, and had of course, adored my mother, without knowing who she really was. She blamed him for her lack of a life, and told him she would never be back and that she would never want to see him again. Then she looked me straight in the eye, and told my father to keep me, because I looked too much like him, that I’d probably end up like him. After she had left, my father hadn’t said anything, but had hugged me, as tightly and strongly as I could take, while I cried in confusion. So I did what I learned from the only person that showed me love, and I hugged.

  She melted into me, shaking in sobs. She mixed in things like “they’re all gone” and “why?” amidst her cries of anguish. Among her sobs, I began thinking about what I had put away in the back of my mind; my father. I had used my subterranean fortress to hide the fact that I had lost him, just like everyone else had lost someone. I had used my solitary hikes through the peaks of the Pisgah National Forest in order to occupy my mind with things other than thinking about him. I was ignoring his memory, his words. He had built this place to live, to survive.

  “We have to remember them all.”

  She stopped crying at that point and just leaned into my chest. I held her close.

  “We need to live, for them. We are a hope, for them, for their memories.”

  Heather “They’re gone.”

  “No, they live through us. They don’t if we just give up.”

  I don’t know how long we sat there. I just kept her close to me. She had calmed down and for a moment, I thought she had fallen asleep. I thought a lot. We couldn’t just survive here, we had to live. We had to live as if we had a purpose, each one of us, even if that purpose was a simple one. We all had to find that purpose.

  Heather “I’m thirsty.”

  Right now, my purpose was to get a drink for her. I told her I’d be right back, and I went rushing to the kitchen. I have no idea if anyone else was out there, although I doubt it. I poured out a glass of orange juice, something far more comforting than just plain water. I brought it back to her and she was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, still covered in the blanket. I had kind of hoped she would have gotten dressed, but the clothes were still tossed aside. I gave her the cup and sat back down next to her. After drinking it, she leaned over and put her head on my shoulder.

  Heather “It’s so quiet in here. I hope I didn’t wake anyone up.”

  “The rooms are quite soundproof. I doubt anyone heard anything.”

  I reached over and grabbed the tablet, hitting play on a random selection of music. The title came up as Sonho Dourado by a group called Explosions in the Sky. It was surprisingly soothing. Very few things seem random these days. My father’s music though. This is the kind of thing he listened to.

  Heather “What should I do?”

  “I think you could…”

  Heather “Should I tell everyone?”

  “Only you can decide that. I think you might find them quite understanding.”

  Heather “I'm the only crazy one. Even Chris seems fine.”

  “Probably only dealing with it in his own way. A teenager way.”

  (Pause)

  Heather “You can let them read it then, if you think it would be ok.”

  “I’ll do that, then.”

  Heather “I think I’d rather this, tonight, that they didn’t know. I don’t need them to think…”

  “I won’t say a thing. Be our little secret.”

  Heather “I'm so sorry. I can’t believe what you must think of me now.”

  “I think you’ve gone through a lot. A lot more than me, that’s for sure. Besides, you gave my heart a kick start. Haven't felt this, alive, in a long time. I guess that comes from being alone.”

  Heather(Turning to look at me) “What do you mean?”

  Never could be honest enough to say that for a split second, I had actually thought about it.

  “Just that it was quite a bit for me in a very short notice. And stuff. Just wasn’t expecting a strip dance tonight. I haven’t gotten around to installing a dance pole in here.” (I was really hoping humor was ok at the moment.)

  She may have actually smiled, but I didn’t catch it all out of the corner of my eye. Glad at least my inane stammering made someone smile.

  Heather “Can I sleep here tonight?”

  Before I could say anything, she must have read my confused mind.

  Heather “I’ll put my clothes on, I promise. It’s just that, Chris is leaving early in the morning, and I’ve always slept with someone, him, for what seems like an eternity. I think I’d feel better. And I like the music.”

  “Sure. Of course. Ill drag another bed in here.”

  Heather “Actually, I was going to ask, for that hug again. All night, just stop me, it felt good.”

  Maybe I took it too far with that, but it had felt good. Clothes were on at least, and she smelled so amazingly good, even if maybe she actually didn’t.

  I probably only got three or four hours of sleep last night, but I feel completely rested.

  Tague - 1st entry

  Brian has asked of me to create this journal for the effect of telling what I’m doing. I believe he’s keeping this for records sake. It’s a good idea, so I’ll attempt to describe my happenings in these next couple of days, and as Brian said, in a fashion that he can understand.

  Brian has also asked me to put into writing my thoughts on everything that has occurred up to this point. He asked that I tell him what I see, from my point of view. He’s a very curious individual, wanting to understand people. I do think, tho
ught, that his intentions are benign. So I’ll do what he asks.

  I asked that the young teenager, Chris, to come with me. He seemed the most bored individual at the underground complex, the house. While everyone has at least a certain level of expertise in some areas, Chris is still a child in school, and has yet to develop any real world skills. Granted, real world skills in this new world, are going to be nothing like he would have learned had that comet not come hurtling towards my planet. While Brian thinks that I have more skills than the rest of the group, I think he is confusing the fact that I’m a foreigner in his old country, and had a career quite different than his, with expertise beyond his.

  Unfortunately, I really am no grand master expert at anything other than journalism. My peculiar skill was finding a story before it became a story. That ability kept me at a high paying place of employment, with a comfortable, if not exciting, life. I had the ability to travel at my pleasure, knowing that wherever I went, I would find a good story for the networks. Right now, though, the story is very apparent. Humanity is being extinguished by its own civilization’s success. We grew so grand and powerful, we were able to support a far larger population than ever before, and that population is what is extinguishing our flame on this planet.

  I thought the greatest story of my life would be my last, but it seems that I have been allowed to continue here. Maybe this story will be the greater one. Of course, the audience is almost non-existent.

  Chris has proven enjoyable company. I can see that he and his sister have gone through something horrible, and yet, she has nearly been destroyed by it, and he has become the group joker. He routinely smiles and laughs, and attempts horrible American jokes on me, jokes so bad I have to laugh at their atrocity. I claim not to be an expert at personalities, or to be any sort of psychologist, but this appears to be his natural personality. So why is he not reacting to the trauma as his sister has?

  He seemed happy, if not eager, to leave the house to come with me. I didn’t ask him directly, but I believe he has actually wanted to distance himself from his sister. He also hasn’t said it directly, but it seems that he is disappointed with his sister’s reaction to the situations they have faced. I will not delve into it with him, but only record what he says.

  Our walk over here was quite uneventful. The sun was warm, but at these heights, there’s always a good breeze. The distance was as Brian said, just over twelve miles, or just over nineteen kilometers. We got off the road where Brian had indicated, and hiked a somewhat difficult trail up to the transmitter station. It was only difficult because I was carrying all the equipment that I thought I would require to fix anything I found there. Without knowing what was there, I brought a lot of extra things. In the past, I had always used vehicles to carry my equipment, so this was more of a first time experience for me.

  The transmitter station is a simple place. It’s just one smaller building with the large antenna reaching up into the sky on the peak of this mountain called Pisgah. There’s a small shed outside where there was a power generator, probably diesel, but the roof had broken in and the machine looked to be in horrible shape. I was no mechanical engineer, so I would have no chance to attempt to fix it. Power was going to be an issue, but I meant to explore everything first.

  We broke into the small concrete building rather easily. One thing I had brought with me was a bolt cutter. The simple lock on the chain melted away easily under the leveraged power of the bolt cutter. The inside of the building is clean enough. No one has been here since the world fell to the dead, likely even before that.

  Inside were the usual array of transmitters, power supplies, two older computers and the myriad of cables that hook everything up. Without being able to power anything, there’s no way of knowing if the equipment all still works, but visually, despite a layer of dust, everything seemed to be in order. I did bring along a few batteries to at least test out the equipment. That will have to wait till tomorrow.

  The rest of the evening has been spent cleaning up a little, and making ourselves comfortable for the evening. We have already eaten, and the boy has started up a lengthy conversation about his days playing basketball for his former school, a conversation that quickly changed subjects from the athletic to the sexual, as he described one of his girlfriends in a level of detail that I had hoped not to hear. He was amused with my discomfort, and attempted to get me to yield information about any past relationships I may have had, but I was not about disclose anything like that to him.

  That is information that is mine, and mine alone.

  Entry 30 – Guns[29]

  Today we made the discovery that behind the weapon locker, the gun storage room, was a door that led to yet another room. The door had been hidden behind a myriad of crates, and while Evan was still doing his gun count, we moved the crates and discovered the door. The door led into what Evan told us was a shooting range, although mostly unfinished.

  It was a long cavernous room, poorly lit, although, as Evan pointed out, the lighting was installed at places, just not connected to anything. It appears that my father did run out of time, or money. I know my father, and although he knew far more about guns than I ever did, he was never fond of weapons. Maybe this was quite low on his priority of things to do at the house.

  It didn’t take Evan too long. He found a stash of paper targets, which he attached to a long corded runner. He cranked a wheel on the far right wall, and moved the target to the far back of the room, almost out of sight with the lack of lighting in the room. He then moved back into the locker, grabbed a rifle, brought it back behind the waist high wall at the entrance of the room, took aim, and began firing off rounds. We quickly realized what was missing.

  Evan dug around until he found ear muffs, that’s what I called them. He gave me one and put one on himself, then went back to firing off rounds. It wasn’t nearly as loud this time around. I patted him on the shoulder and left the room. This had given me an idea.

  Heather and I spent the next couple of hours, under the guide of Evan, firing off different guns. As horribly Hollywood as it seems, putting a gun into a woman’s hands and letting her fire it, is an excellent way to build self confidence. I would like to think that last night was just as good to her confidence as now, but, no, guns far outweigh anything I may have, or could have, said.

  It could also be that Chris was gone. When I had told her how well I had slept, despite the lack of hours, she had commented that she had also felt rested. Maybe, a weight off her shoulders, maybe not having to watch or even have to think about her younger brother, maybe, it was all a good first step for her. I wonder if she could find peace the same way I do? With, many, many steps. I think I’ll suggest it to her tomorrow.

  I wonder where she will want to sleep tonight.

  Do I sound like an idiot?

  Evan claims he finished his count of the weapon locker today at supper. We have all been enjoying a movie of some sort on a TV that Aaron found in yet another of the storage rooms.

  At least she sat next to me.

  You know, in these moments, many feet under the ground, you can forget that your friends and family have all been destroyed, or are walking around as horrific remnants of themselves. You can forget that whatever life you had built up was completely gone. You could forget the things that you had seen, the family and friends torn to pieces by creatures that had once only been the part of fantasy or science fiction books.

  We watched the movie, commented and laughed, all the while the human existence on this very planet we were now within was being consumed, eaten, one human at a time. Aaron and Lucy were snuggled up tight on a couch, probably with the memories of their families in some dark part of their minds, stashed back in deep by the presentation of this happy reality we were now in.

  I had retreated myself into that giddy schoolboy part of my mind, sitting next to a warm body of someone beautiful yet hurt, but someone I had helped. And I kept thinking that I could once again just shut myself off and up in
to my cave of a house and leave everything out there, just forget about it. Seven years is a long time, and I bet that I, probably all of us, could simply just live it here in a blind ignorant bliss, as if nothing had happened.

  I remember the horror of watching all of those zombies burning in my botched up bomb, the twisted bodies, writhing in the flames, flesh melting off like wax. I remember the face of that one teenage girl looking at me with her dead eyes. I remember the first zombie I found, weeks ago, hiking through the woods not too far from here. But the worst thing is that I can’t remember the people that I used to work with, or my old girlfriends, or friends from high school. I can barely remember my father’s own face, or even his voice, the hint of anger covering his hidden sadness.

  I can remember Heather’s face. I can remember her warmth, and the smell of her hair. I don’t want to forget that. That makes me selfish, and maybe it makes me someone who has accepted defeat, as long as it will get me a warm shower and food.

  I remember the first real hike my father took me on. Not one of those camping trips in a car, with a cooler and a huge tent, which my mother hated. No, this was after she left us. My father took me on a three day hike into the Shining Rock Wilderness area, not too far from here, actually. We carried everything in on our backs, clawing away through some thick brush at times, and eventually reaching his goal, Cold Mountain. We spent an entire day there, talking, or just sitting there, not saying a thing. That night, as we lay in our sleeping bags, freezing our asses off, because, it is Cold Mountain, he told me, “Don’t forget. Don’t help everyone. But help those who need it. Otherwise, there’s no reason to be alive.”

  I know he was still devastated because mom had left us. I think that devastation never left him. I thought it was quite corny what he had told me, and I had never quite put it together with anything. My father was a good guy. Once he got his wealth, he did routinely help a lot of people, far more than many deserved. But I think the most important part of what he told me, wasn’t really the whole helping people thing. Yeah, that part is important, but looking back, and seeing what he did here, I think his biggest thing was to not forget.